When I was little and getting ready for bed my mom told me she had a surprise for me. She pulled out some candy, like, a jawbreaker or something (told me not to chew, of course), but it was small and yeah. So I took it and I started eating it. Like 10 seconds later I started to cry. She asked me what was wrong because I was, like, really sad out of nowhere. I said that I didn't like the candy, that I was sorry that I didn't like it. She said it was fine, I didn't do anything wrong, yeah. I was crying because I thought if I said I didn't like it she'd be really sad and I didn't want my mom to be sad so I felt bad about it.

I have literally so many to tell that I have no idea where to begin. I suppose the only ones anyone would care about would be the ones where horrible things happened to me for no raisin.

Alright. So, highschool, I'm into this one girl, we talk alot, we're in a sexual relationship, whatevs. She gets with one of Fountain's friends, and we cut it off because she doesn't wanna cheat. Which is completely reasonable, ya know? But I'm just sittin' there one day, and I get a text from her.

>How's it going, sexy?

So, anyone who can pick up on signals knows thats green light territory right there, cleared for landing. So I text back flirtatiously, ya know? I send some flirty thing along, and the text I get back is:

>guess who this is?

"Hey, boyfriendguy."

Her boyfriend had taken her phone, and texted me flirtatiously pretending to be her to trick me into coming onto her, so he could... catch... me... flirting? It was this complicated set up just to get me to stop talking to her. A trap of pure assholishness.

A couple years ago, I went on a girls' camping trip with my roommates to this camping ground that's located on a beach. This was in January, so it was pretty cold (well, cold for Florida) so I'm all bundled up and drinking PBRs to gain a liquor jacket.

I'm the first one to pass out in the tent and I wake up in the middle of the night with the sudden urge to pee. The closest bathroom is about a 15 minute walk from the site, so I decided in my drunken state that I couldn't hold it that long and went to go pee in the sand dunes instead.

Now, being a girl, we have to squat to pee in the wilderness in the most uncomfortable way. So, there I am in the dunes, in the dark peeing. I place my hand on the ground for some stability and it lands on a pokey sticker thing. In shock, I fell back--MID PEE--and my bare butt lands on a bunch more of those pokey stickers. I quickly sit up, finish my urinating, all while pulling sticker after sticker out of my butt.

I went back to sleep and woke up to find even more stickers. They were endless.

Anyway, I've got a story. In October of 2014, I was in a production of Little Women, and I was playing the tutor. During the scene where Jo finds out my character and Meg had the hots for each other and freaks out, the actress playing the Aunt had a small breakdown backstage and couldn't come on. Now, here I am with my friend Brinn,(who was playing Jo.) not really knowing what to do if she wasn't on in time. Well, she didn't come on in time, so we had to start improving. We continued the argument from where the Aunt should have cut us off, ad libbing in new bits of dialogue. I had the general defense of "But we love each other! This is what happens when you get older, you fall in love!" While Brinn got quite... extravagant with her improvisation. She was in tears, as if Jo's character cared THAT much. I don't remember most of what she said, but one line stands out in particular:"UGH! Just think of what Aunt March would say! I wish cell phones were invented so I could call her!"It caught me off guard, and I had to respond with "Yes, if only!" and then steer it back on course. Granted, the audience burst into laughter, but our director was not happy.

Eventually the actress playing Aunt March collected herself and came on stage, and the play continued normally. But oh my God was our director angry.

Hayden, that's great. I love improv on stage. I was in a murder-mystery last year where I wad the "director" - I got to hold a copy of the script the whole time which was neato. Unfortunately the majority of the people in it didn't know their lines very well. At one point in the play the main guy forgot a line and I started to give it to him. He told me, "Jean, I know my lines!..." paused for a few moments, and said "...I don't know my lines." Audience laughed and I quickly showed him where we were.

I got an award for best supporting actor because of how many times I had to save people in that play.

@Megan's story, how did you not get piss all over yourself? Did you? Being drunk in the woods seems like a recipe for disaster.

@Hayden/Orca, You guys make me extremely sad that there was never a drama club or plays anywhere I went to school or anything.

Alright. Now it's time for another one of my horrid stories. So, my dad is going to court, and finds out he's going to jail, so my mom and him decide to get divorced around the same time. My dad writes up an officially thing, agreed upon by the courts to have my mother take custody of me.

So naturally, she says no and doesn't take it.

I end up living with my grandparents, who have no way to take custody of me and never adopted me because I staunchly refused, my dad was in jail, my mom denied custody, and I never entered foster care or ward of the court status.

@Fish, well at least you aren't half-adopted. And lucky you weren't put into the foster care system. Are you sure though you were in custody of your mom or your dad and they just told you you weren't under their custody while your grandparents took you in?

I was present while my grandparents spent three hours trying to explain how I had no legal guardian and no custodian. I have no idea how I was even able to attend highschool. I recall my grandparents desperately trying to adopt me so they could get me on their taxes, but my mom couldn't give them custody because she didn't have it, and paperwork for me being a court ward didn't exist.

My mom used to call me "The Terrorist" when I was little, because I was a terrible child.

My uncle would tell me this one particular story about an office Mercenary Day party that my mom was hosting. Apparently, in my toddler-probably-drunk-on-sugar youth, I decided it would be a GREAT idea to go up to the big company Mercenary Day tree and start taking down all of the ornaments and smashing them together!

Then, after being caught for that debacle, in my attempts to run away, I grabbed hold of a microphone that was connected to speakers and starting singing "La la la!" over and over into the microphone as my mother, my uncle, and multiple other guests were chasing me down. I was more of a badass rebel at age 4 than I am now.